


Doctor's Orders

by laurenwrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenwrites/pseuds/laurenwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is ill and sent home from class, Grantaire takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor's Orders

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really have an excuse for this, I just wanted to write shameless E/R fluff.

_It’s not fair._

Enjolras groaned internally as he walked into his apartment; mentally cursing Combeferre and the professor that had flat out insisted on sending him home. Of course, he’d argued – _when didn’t he argue?_ – but it was no use. He’d been forced into agreement by his supposed best friend, who’d promised to photocopy any notes from today’s classes. Enjolras had disputed that it wasn’t the same as being there, taking in the information for himself but he’d been outvoted. Besides, his argument had sounded particularly feeble with his strained voice; gravelly and almost non-existent in its current state.

_Yes, he was technically ill but that didn’t make him an invalid._

Throwing his bag down on the coffee table, Enjolras huffed in frustration. His head was spinning, disorientating as well as mildly nauseating. The throbbing in his skull didn’t cease as he took a seat on the sofa, resting his head against the cushioned chair-back. Admittedly, he should perhaps take a tablet to ease the pain, but instead Enjolras frowned and reached for his bag; pulling out the various papers and books required for his class. If he couldn’t study in college, he’d do it here.

Thirty minutes later, Enjolras found himself equally surrounded with documents and used tissues; the sofa serving as both his desk and a seat. The ache in his head had increased significantly; it seemed reading was doing him no favours. _It wasn’t even as if he was taking anything in._

Pushing the contents of his study-space aside, Enjolras got up and made his way to the kitchen; pausing as he felt the blood rush to his head. If anything was going to make him feel better, it was a hot drink – preferably something organic and fruit-based. He searched in his cupboards and finally decided on raspberry tea. Waiting for the kettle to boil, he leaned against the counter; running a hand through his decidedly dishevelled hair. His forehead was inhumanly hot, a sweat breaking on his forehead.

A knock at the door made Enjolras irrationally angry, even more so as the visitor in question simply barged in.

_Grantaire._

_If he wasn’t already suitably annoyed, he certainly was now._

Grantaire grinned as he walked over, placing his bag on the kitchen counter as he stepped forward to survey the patient. The other man’s black curls almost seemed neat in comparison to Enjolras’ own sand-coloured waves - a rare occurrence indeed. His shirt was old and worn-in, the aged graphic print completely unreadable on the navy blue background. For some reason this angered Enjolras; nothing seemed to make sense anymore.   _Words were supposed to be read and yet this stupid shirt refused to comply._

‘What do you want?’ Enjolras snapped, wiping a hand across his clammy forehead.

‘Ah, it’s always lovely to see you too, Enj. You’re always guaranteed a warm welcome, a happy smile; it’s almost _infectious_ \- ’Grantaire paused, clearly waiting for a laugh that wasn’t to come. He shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the cold reception. ‘Clearly I got here just in time, you’re doing the whole ‘ _sick day’_ thing all wrong.’

‘Oh really, and what you suggest?’ His tone was dry, his voice coming out in short rasps due to the illness working its way through his system.

‘First of all, you need to change. Go put on something comfortable.’ Grantaire all but pushed him out of the kitchen, turning back to the counter as he saw Enjolras unwillingly moving toward his bedroom. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll make your stupid girl-tea.’

Enjolras glared but followed the instructions, albeit unwillingly, as he closed the door to his bedroom behind him. He pulled on a loose burgundy t-shirt and his grey plaid pyjama pants. He certainly felt a hell of a lot better out of the tight jeans and button-up shirt he’d previously been wearing. Although he’d never admit it, he was suddenly glad for the presence of Grantaire. _Clearly, he had a fever – he couldn’t be thinking straight._

He walked back out into the living room, picking up the mug of fresh tea sitting on the coffee table as he sat down. Breathing in the rich scent, Enjolras sighed. The warmth was both comforting and too much; he couldn’t quite work out if he was too hot or too cold anymore. Quite frankly, it was infuriating. Either way, the tea tasted great and it soothed his throat in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe.

In his current state, Enjolras hadn’t even noticed the absence of his books, papers and sample-documents. By the time he did, he was too tired to care. They were neatly piled up on the floor behind the sofa, courtesy of Grantaire. A fresh box of tissues lay in their place.

Enjolras watched as Grantaire poured himself a mug of tea. He would have commented on the fact that the other man seemed to be enjoying the so called ‘ _girl-tea’_ but he seriously doubted his voice would even carry over the room. On approach, Grantaire held out two tablets - pain killers.

‘Not necessary.’

‘Take the damn tablets, I’m the doctor here.’ His voice was light; teasing as he firmly placed the tablets in Enjolras’ outstretched hand. He watched as his self-proclaimed patient swallowed them one at a time, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘ _There, happy?’_

Grantaire smiled as he put down his own mug, leaving the room momentarily. When he came back, he was dragging Enjolras’ double duvet through the apartment, directly to the sofa.

‘ _What_ are you doing?’

‘It’s what people do when they’re ill, Enj. We make blanket cocoons and watch crappy reality TV until we feel human again. It’s like an unspoken law, okay?’ Grantaire chuckled as he engulfed Enjolras in his own blankets, taking the empty cup from his hands as he did so.  

Enjolras mumbled under his breath about the whole concept being ridiculous, but he didn’t move from his position on the sofa.

‘Move over.’ Grabbing the remote, Grantaire pulled back the covers and placed himself next to Enjolras. Not wanting to push his luck quite yet, he firmly remained on his respective side of the sofa, giving the patient his own space. He flipped through the channels as he burrowed into the covers, making sure Enjolras had more than his fair share. ‘Oh, you’re going to lovethis! The Real Housewives of Orange County are certifiably insane; although between you and me, they have nothing on the Atlanta Housewives.’

Enjolras was surprised to find himself laughing at Grantaire’s constant commentary, it almost made up for the lack of quality in the show itself. _Then again, what did he expect of reality day-time TV?_ Despite being thoroughly entertained, his eyes seemed to get heavier by the second. His head nodded as he momentarily lost consciousness. Mumbling an apology, he shook his head in an attempt to wake himself.

Grantaire merely reached over and pulled Enjolras against him; shifting so that his head lay comfortably on his chest. Surprised, Enjolras attempted to sit back up almost immediately; cheeks flushed.

‘Enj, it’s okay.’ Grantaire nodded, using his arm to guide him back into place. ‘Lie down, sleep.’

Enjolras tensed before relaxing into the position, tentatively burrowing into the warmth of his shirt. Grantaire’s arm remained wrapped around his shoulder; he used the other to pull up the covers before resting it gently in Enjolras’ tousled hair, absentmindedly playing with the longer curls.

Unable to fall asleep right away, Enjolras resumed listening to the other man’s commentary. His voice was soothing, rhythmic. The wearier he grew, the less he heard. He could, however, _feel_ the every short phrase and half-laugh.

On his part, Enjolras cautiously laid an arm across Grantaire’s torso; shifting slightly as he made himself suitably comfortable. He couldn’t see Grantaire’s smile, but his heartbeat was calming. With the medication dulling both his headache and his senses, he felt almost peaceful. His skull was no longer throbbing; in fact he didn’t really feel much of anything – just a pleasant sense of _warmth_. They stayed like this for a few minutes, Enjolras on the very edge of sleep.

‘Grantaire?’

The other man made a sound of inquiry; a short ‘ _mmhm_ ’ from closed lips.

‘Thank you.’ Enjolras voice was quiet and husky both from illness and the soon-to-be onset of sleep. He felt Grantaire’s breath momentarily hitch in response; a short little chuckle sending vibrations deep into his chest as he clutched Enjolras slightly closer.

‘My pleasure, Apollo.’


End file.
